


Some With Arrows

by zuzeca



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Beast Wars
Genre: Aphrodisiac Virus, Community: tfanonkink, Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Plug and Play Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:00:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuzeca/pseuds/zuzeca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rattrap is infected with an aphrodisiac virus via a Predacon plot. Dinobot volunteers to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some With Arrows

**Author's Note:**

> Exactly what it says on the tin. Ancient repost from LJ, originally written on the kinkmeme for [this prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/tfanonkink/491.html?thread=2704619#t2704619). This one was particularly challenging, as it was the first time I'd ever taken a crack at the infamous "fuck or die" plot. Hope it worked. Enjoy.

There were some days Rattrap really hated his job.

Like the day Megatron decided to erect a massive jamming tower on a nearby cliff face, just on the edge of their territory.

Normally they might have left the tower alone, but its position spread the signal over a wide area and directly interfered with communications with Tigatron. So he’d gone out with the kid, the Boss Monkey and the slag-spouting saurian to take care of it.

It seemed excessive to Rattrap to send four of them, but he’d underestimated Megatron’s desire to keep the tower upright and they were greeted by Predacon fire.

Waspinator, Terrorsaur and Inferno engaged them, whooping and cackling as they avoided shots and optic laser blasts from the ground based fighters. Optimus took to the sky to pursue them.

But with the fliers overhead, peppering them with blaster fire, no one noticed Tarantulus nestled in a cranny on an adjacent cliff face.

Until he threw a bomb at them that is.

Rattrap guessed the spider was aiming for the Boss Monkey, or maybe Dinobrain, the bomb was small, too small to do much damage to more than a single mech, but by sheer dumb luck he happened to be in the line of fire.

He had about a nanoklick to curse his terrible luck before the tiny bomb exploded, releasing a shower of darts.

Rattrap threw up his hands to shield his face plates. Darts hailed down, and pain flared as barbs snapped out, piercing the plating on his arms. He hissed in pain and pulled his arms down to get a look at them.

They were coated with the small weapons, bulbous ends colored a lurid purple. 

_Slag._

As worrying as the prospect of the spider worming into his processor was, a blast from Waspinator kept him from examining them more closely. He ducked behind a rock, clutching his blaster.

Slag, shouldn’t leave those in there. Gritting his teeth he wrapped his free hand around his gun arm and scraped it down the length of his limb. The tiny darts popped free, raining onto the ground.

He repeated the hasty process on the other arm before popping up from behind the rock and blasting the wasp square in the face.

The concussion from the shot bowled the other mech over, damaging a wing and sending him into a tailspin. Wailing, Waspinator crashed to the ground, smoke billowing up from his sparking components.

At that moment Dinobot managed to sever one of the struts that kept the jamming tower upright. The structure creaked ominously and began to tilt.

Terrorsaur shrieked with rage and called a retreat, swooping down to scoop up the remains of Waspinator as the tower crashed to the ground. Inferno fired off one last burst of his flamethrower and followed them.

Tarantulus had long since disappeared.

Optimus descended to the ground and shifted back to his beast mode.

“Is everyone alright?” he asked.

“I’m in one piece, but Spider-Boy tagged me with something,” Rattrap said, holding up his arms.

Optimus stepped over to him and bent to examine a dart which had resisted the quick removal. He narrowed his optics before reaching and tugging it out. 

“Hey, watch it!” Rattrap yelped. 

The larger mech ignored him, turning over the dart in the light. 

“What do you think, Big Boss?” said Cheetor.

“I can’t tell exactly what was in them without a scan,” replied Optimus “Let’s get you to the base.” 

 

Back aboard the _Axalon_ Rhinox hustled the rat up onto the scanner. Rattrap lay back on the examination table while the other mech fussed with the controls.

Dinobot slid closer to Optimus.

“The Predacons were damaged,” he said. “We should pursue them.” 

“We can deal with the Predacons later. If Tarantulus has got a new weapon I don’t want to risk anyone else getting hit with it, especially since we don’t know what it is. For now let’s get Rattrap checked out. Can you tell what was in the darts?”

“Hmm,” Rhinox said, examining the scanner, “his systems are running hot, but it’s not cybervenom, looks like a virus of some kind. I’m not sure what it’s meant to do.”

“How are you feeling, Rattrap?” Optimus asked, “Anything unusual?”

“Besides feeling like I could face a femme inta the middle of next decacycle? Not a thing.” 

“Rattrap!” Optimus said, “Not in front of Cheetor.”

“You were the one that asked, Boss Monkey.”

Optimus sighed, “Fair enough. So you’re a bit overcharged then. Can you,” he made a face, “can you take care of it yourself?”

“No problem,” Rattrap said, hopping off the scanner “I’ll just take the next few cycles off and ‘recuperate’,” he tossed a saucy wink at Optimus, “Alright with you, Fearless Leader?”

“I don’t think,” Rhinox appeared to rethink his words and stepped closer to Rattrap, deliberately facing away from Cheetor and dropping his voice, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“You got a better one, Horn Head? ‘Cause I’ll be _slagged_ if I’m gonna jack off in the command center,” Rattrap muttered, casting a baleful optic at Dinobot. The saurian glared back and let out a low growl.

“I don’t mean that,” Rhinox said, exasperated, “I just think you should be monitored, that’s all. We don’t know the exact nature of this virus.”

“Yeah, well, if I’m gone more than a decacycle you can send somebody to put me outta my misery,” Rattrap snapped as he scampered down the corridor.

 

Rattrap sagged onto his berth, intakes flaring. His system was running hotter than he could ever recall, even in the midst of interface. His sensors were hypersensitive; the pressure of the berth on his back was enough to send him twisting over to relieve some of the ache.

Grumbling, he shifted and let the plates of his chassis crack open. His spark was pulsing wildly in its chamber and he reached beneath it to the main electrical line, stimulating the round ring where it connected to his spark chamber.

Ooh, that was nice. He continued to touch his spark chamber while allowing his free hand to drop down and caress the insides of his legs, something which always revved his engine in the past.

Hmm, not quite enough. He brought his hand back up to his chassis and dipped it inside. His fingers clicked against the retracted interface plug and static buzzed across his vision. He fondled the circle of his port, sliding a finger inside briefly.

His intakes huffed for air as the charge built. On a hunch he irised his spark chamber open and immersed a finger into the glowing light.

That did it. His body seized and he shouted, electricity crackling across his frame as overload rippled through him.

Exhausted, he flopped back to the berth, his vents steaming. Offlined his optics and waited for his body to cool.

And waited.

And waited.

Rattrap onlined his optics and stared at the blinking message splashed across them.

_Core Temperature: Elevated and Climbing._

“Slag.”

 

No less than three overloads later he still couldn’t get his temperature anywhere below ‘moderately elevated’. His systems chugged, and warning messages flashed across his optics: _Energy Levels Low_ , _Excessive Charge Present_. Worse the responsiveness of his sensors actually seemed to _climb_ with each overload, to the point where even a slight shift on the berth had him writhing.

Pounding on his door startled him from his exhausted reverie.

“Rattrap?” Rhinox’s voice was sharp with concern.

_Slag._

“What is it, Big Green?” he called back.

“Are you alright?”

“Oh, I’m dandy,” Rattrap said, “just having a bit o’ trouble dispelling the charge. You know how it is.”

“You’re not able to dissipate the charge?” Rhinox’s tone rose with alarm, “How many times have you overloaded?”

“Wow, I never took ya for _that_ type—”

_“Rattrap.”_

“Fine, fine,” he huffed, “about four times, by my count.”

There was an ominous silence.

“I’m coming in.”

“The _Pit_ you are, Horn Head.”

“Rattrap, if the charge isn’t being dispersed through self-overload then you could—”

“I _told_ ya, I’m just overcharged. I’ll be fine in a few cycles. Now can you get outta here and give a mech some privacy?”

Rhinox growled in frustration, “I’ll be back.”

 

“So,” said Optimus, “what’s the news on Rattrap?”

“Cheetor,” Rhinox said suddenly, “why don’t you go do a perimeter sweep?”

“Aw, what do you want me to do that for? I want to hear how Rattrap’s doing; none of you guys will tell me what’s wrong with him.”

“That’s because it’s a complex condition, with plenty of medical terminology which would make your optics glaze over,” Rhinox said smoothly, “Now scat.”

As soon as he’d shooed the grumbling cat out of the command center Rhinox turned to Optimus.

“We have a problem,” he said, “Rattrap is experiencing difficulties dissipating the charge through self-stimulation alone.” 

“There’s a sentence I hoped to go my whole life without hearing,” Optimus said, “Can’t he just take a few more cycles off?”

“It’s not quite that simple. Without a complete circuit to stabilize the charge and guide it to ground the energy will keep cycling. It’ll eventually short out his circuits and he’ll go into stasis lock,” Rhinox’s optics regarded the ceiling, “Someone’s going to have to interface with him.”

Optimus rubbed a weary hand across his optics, “Well that’s just prime.”

Rhinox sighed, “I’ve known him the longest; I suppose I can do it.”

“Unnecessary,” Dinobot grunted abruptly, straightening from where he was crouched near the exit “I will deal with the vermin.”

“Hang on a klick,” Rhinox said, alarmed, “As out of it as he was, I’m pretty sure Rattrap wasn’t serious about the ‘put me out of my misery’ thing. I can manage to treat him.”

“Since we have no idea whether the virus can be passed via data uplink,” Dinobot said, pausing for a moment as he shifted to robot mode, “that would be most unwise. As the ship’s only medical personnel, you will be needed if the insipid rodent manages to pass the contagion to me. Optimus occupies a vital command position and Tigatron and Airazor are not in range. As a non-essential officer and the only other mech of age to interface, I am the logical choice.”

Dinobot tucked his weapons away and stalked down the corridor in the direction of Rattrap’s quarters, leaving the two mechs to stare after him.

“Slag,” groaned Rhinox, “If they both come out of this alive it’ll be a Primus-sent miracle.”

 

Dinobot did not go immediately to Rattrap’s quarters. On instinct he stopped by the ship’s stores and retrieved a cube of energon.

When hunting rats, it was always good to have bait on hand.

He paused outside the rodent’s room and banged on the door.

“Open up, Vermin.”

There was a low yelp and the clang of metal from within, “What the slag are you doing here, Chopperface?”

“Rhinox’s orders. I have a cube of energon for you.”

There was a brief silence.

“Leave it outside the door.”

“Negative, Vermin. Rhinox insisted that I personally supervise your consumption of it.”

“The slag he did, Bronto Brain, now leave the fragging cube out—”

“I can always break down the door. Would you prefer that, you miserable mouse?”

“Just try it, you—”

Ignoring the rat’s tirade Dinobot reached for the access panel. Digging his claws in beneath the metal he wrenched it off, exposing sparking wires. A sharp tug and the wires snapped.

The door slid open and he heard the rat curse. Dinobot stepped through.

His olfactory sensors practically lit up at the overpowering scent of ozone, the aftermath of what had to be many overloads. The lights were dim. He canted his optics toward the berth and caught the gleam of light as the rodent slammed his chest plates shut.

The vermin was crouched on the berth, hands pressed protectively to his chassis, glaring.

“Get out of here.” There was no trace of the usual mocking tone.

“No.”

“Listen you slagger, if you don’t get out of here, I’m gonna shove a live charge so far up your—”

Dinobot held up the cube.

The rat fell silent. Optics narrowed as he stared at the glowing liquid.

“Are you going to cooperate?”

The rodent tensed, but slowly extended a hand.

Dinobot stepped closer, noting the way the limb trembled. The vermin must be running very low on energy. He held out the cube, claws brushing against small metal fingers as the other mech accepted the energon.

Rattrap hunched over the cube, hands shaking as he brought it to his mouth. As quickly as he could stand he gulped the glowing liquid and couldn’t stop the shudder of relief as his systems drank in the energy. Some of the angry warning messages flickered out, though his core temperature was still flashing in the red.

He looked up at the saurian with suspicion, “Why are you doing this?”

Dinobot had moved back to the door while he was refueling and was fiddling with the wires of the access panel. The door hissed shut and the mech straightened, “It would not do to have you fall into stasis lock in the middle of interface.”

Rattrap froze, “Ya mind repeating that, Dinobutt? I’m not at my best right now, but I coulda sworn you said ‘interface’.”

“You are correct.”

Rattrap put the cube down beside his berth with extreme care, “I knew it, that slagging virus has infected my CPU and now I’m hallucinating.”

“While I often doubt the strength of your processor,” Dinobot replied, “this is not a symptom of delirium. Without an interface partner you will be unable to dissipate the charge.”

“Forget it, Dinobrain. I’m not gonna knock boots with _you_.”

The mech’s optics narrowed. Stalking over to the berth, he bent over the rat, “This is not about what you want,” he snarled, “You are a soldier, in a fighting force that can ill afford to lose any of its members. You will not risk deactivation for such a petty reason.”

“Then send Rhinox in, for Primus’ sake, he—”

“Rhinox is a vital officer on the ship; it is unacceptable that he risk himself in this manner. It is unknown if the virus is contagious.” 

“Oh, great so now I’m a biohazard. Well fine. You know what, Chopperface, you can just leave me here to offline, ‘cause I don’t want a filthy Pred touching me!”

It was the wrong thing to say. Dinobot’s optics blazed and large hands snapped out, latching onto his torso before shoving him back onto the berth.

The huge mech loomed over him. The pressure on his external sensors burned; he sucked in air through his intakes, spark pulsing as though he would overload, “Very well, Maximal, if you truly think so little of me, far be it for me to disappoint you!”

Dinobot dragged him up the length of the berth, situating them chest to chest. Oversensitive sensors scraped against metal and he choked, his body spasming and sparking.

The saurian rapped against the plates of his chassis.

“Open.”

“Get slagged!”

Dinobot _raked_ clawed fingers down the sides of his body. Sensors screamed in pleasure-pain and he cried out.

“Open.”

His twitching body decided to bypass his higher processor functions and light welled up as his chassis parted, the glow of his spark bright in the dim room.

The saurian paused for a moment and laid a hand on the spark chamber.

Rattrap froze, vents steaming, waiting to see what the other mech would do.

Dinobot’s hand was large enough to encase the small chamber, jointed fingers wrapping around it. He stared into the rodent’s chassis, contemplating, before his gaze flickered up to Rattrap’s face.

Optics met and clawed double thumbs scraped down the sensitive metal of the chamber.

Rattrap’s vocalizer shorted out. His body convulsed on the berth and sparks danced across the surface of his plating.

Dinobot withdrew his hand and made for the interface equipment nestled beside the chamber. He allowed one finger to slip into the port briefly as he tugged the cable from its resting place.

Rattrap’s processor spun as the saurian manipulated the plug, stimulating sensors on the end, and squeezing just hard enough to be uncomfortable as he pulled it out. Finally he managed to get his vocalizer back online.

“Well,” he rasped, his voice staticky, “ya gonna jack in, or what?” 

The mech grunted, fingers twitching in a way that made Rattrap gasp and writhe “Then I take it you no longer fear corruption?”

_Oh, for the love of…_

He offlined his optics with a groan, “Look, you slagger, I’m sorry, okay? I…was outta line.”

A sound of acknowledgement, then a pointed silence.

_Slag._

“And,” he muttered, “…I don’t have a problem with ya being a Pred. Just with your sparkling personality.”

A hand ran slowly down the side of his torso and he had to fight the rising charge, “It is…not easy to be among Maximals. Your ways are very different. Even in interface.”

Rattrap sighed, “Well, good news is my sensors are wired so high right now you could probably do anything ya want and I’d _still_ get off.”

The raptor gave a rumble of deliberation, “Is that so?”

_Oh, slag, I shouldn’t have—_

Pointed teeth sank into his shoulder.

Static momentarily flashed across his optics and he bucked against the berth. Intakes cycling madly, he glared down at the other mech.

“What part of ‘oversensitive’ don’t you understand?” he shrieked. “I’ve overloaded four times already today. Are you _trying_ to make me blow a fuse?”

An amused growl, “A worthy challenge, perhaps.”

“Oh no you don’t, you pre-evolved Bird Brain. Now hurry up and jack inta me before my temperature gauge decides to slag this whole business and just explodes!”

“As you wish.”

Dinobot levered himself up to allow the plates of his chassis to open. From this angle the light of his spark blazed into Rattrap’s optics, momentarily blinding him.

One clawed hand lifted and withdrew an interface cable, reaching out and clicking the plug into the rodent’s port, before repeating the process with his own.

The circuit locked into place and suddenly the charge that had been cycling in Rattrap’s body for over a megacycle had somewhere to go.

His helm slammed back against the berth, but he barely felt the sting as current roared through him. Above him Dinobot convulsed and cried out, the eerie organic shriek of a velociraptor echoing around the room.

Dinobot’s backstruts bowed as he fought to control the overwhelming tide of energy, bleeding off the excess charge into his own systems. Hooked into the vermin’s neural net, he could see the virus, insidious lines of code nested in the rodent’s processor like poisonous vines, disabling the failsafes that served to dissipate surplus charge.

He’d just have to overload them.

Teeth sank into the thin plating of the rat’s throat and the resulting squeal, an ultrasonic sound made by coupling rodents, that his organic side interpreted as both _prey_ and _mate_ , set his beast mode’s instincts roaring.

Dizzy with the taste of energon and mech fluid, he cycled the charge through his own body, letting it build, and fed it back into the rat. The vermin writhed and squealed again, and plating tore as it strained against sharp teeth. Current cycled, doubled and roared back through his circuits.

Dinobot dug his claws into the rat’s torso, holding on to the power for as long as he dared, before releasing it.

The delicate lines of the virus shattered as energy blasted through them. The rodent shrieked as overload tore through them both, electricity crackling along their plating as suddenly freed charge fought to go to ground. 

Dinobot slumped over the rat, optics dimming as he slipped into stasis.

 

_Initiating reboot sequence._

_Rebooting…_

_Initiating systems scan._

_Scanning…_

_Alien code: absent._

_Core temperature: nominal._

Rattrap onlined his optics.

He was on his back, staring at the ceiling above his berth. The room was silent but for the whoosh of the ventilation system.

Pulling in a slow cycle of air through his intakes, he allowed his head to fall to the side, a smart remark already leaping to his tongue.

He was alone in the berth.

He didn’t care to analyze the twinge of disappointment that flashed through him at that realization.

“Slagger’s probably recharging,” he muttered as he levered himself up on shaky limbs.

“As you should be.”

Rattrap yelped, a hand slipping from beneath him as he tumbled from the berth.

His fall was broken by Dinobot, who was stretched full length on the floor. The larger mech gave grunt of discomfort as Rattrap landed hard on his chassis.

“Have a care for your limbs, Vermin,” Dinobot grumbled, shifting before offlining his optics. 

Rattrap stared, “What the slag are you doing here?”

“Rhinox mentioned nothing about the virus affecting memory banks…”

“No, Dinobrain,” Rattrap said, “What are you _still_ doing here?”

“Recharging,” replied the saurian, as though it was obvious, “If your eloquent nattering is a complaint about my location then you will simply have to wait until I regain function of my limbs.”

It was then that Rattrap realized that his own limbs were behaving sluggishly in response to commands from his processor. The short distance to the berth suddenly looked immense, “Slag, I feel like somebody tried to use me as a capacitor.” 

“Considering you had accumulated a surfeit of energy strong enough to have powered the _Axalon_ for a cycle, it is unsurprising.”

They lay for a few klicks in silence, intakes cycling slowly.

“Why didn’t ya,” Rattrap paused, testing the words, “why didn’t ya recharge in the berth?”

“Too small,” Dinobot replied, “unless you would have preferred to recharge on top of me.”

“I don’t know,” Rattrap mumbled, “it’s not too bad.”

Optics onlined and he met the gaze with a hint of a defiant glare.

Dinobot offlined his optics, tilting his helm until he faced the ceiling, “Someone should inform Rhinox that you are out of danger. He is no doubt glitching with the suspense.”

He recognized the diversion, a withdrawal from something still too new and sharp to be touched. But even as Rattrap’s spark sank slightly he felt a large hand creep up to rest against his backstruts.

It was a concession; an acknowledgement that something had shifted between them and a promise to examine it later.

Rattrap’s plating twitched in a smirk as he allowed his helm to rest against the pebbly skin of the raptor’s beast mode, “Nah, just let ‘em keep thinking you ate me for a few more cycles.”

A thoughtful hum, “That could always be arranged.”

Rattrap allowed his optics to fall offline, “You’re still a slag-spouting saurian.”

“And you are still a malodorous vermin with a penchant for unsanitary habits.”

Rattrap grinned as he slipped into recharge.

_I guess nobody’s perfect._


End file.
